Keep Calm and Carry On
by JForward
Summary: UK Version Oneshot. Inspired by an experience  check the author note at the bottom.  Mitchell struggles to cope with what he did during the BT20. Set at the end of series 2 before series 3 begins. Quite detailed and a little angsty. Review my lovelies :


**I do not own Being Human. All rights to the show belong to the BBC. This work is produced non-profit for the enjoyment of the public. This work is the intellectual property of JForward and may not be reproduced without the express permission of the author in writing.**

** Author's Note: Yes I enjoy writing scary copyright stuff. Okay, another kind of angsty oneshot. I like writing for Mitchell but do tell me if I go a little off character. Again this is set before he knows of the prophecy, just before they buy the new house but when they're in Barry.**

Smoke was channelled into the air in a thin stream as Mitchell lounged against a wall, the cold brick scratching gently against his leather jacket. The day was bright and he had his sunglasses on once more; the watery but clear skies meant that the winter light was white and unpleasant, more than the heat of a summer sun. Zipping the jacket a little higher, and tucking one gloved hand into his pocket, Mitchell considered his options. He could head back to the house, back to George and Nina and ... and no one else. He shivered, always cold. They didn't know, they didn't ask, about what he had done when they had been freed them from that centre.

George had seen him. Seen the blood on his face, seen him pin Kemp to the wall. George had helped stop the vampire ... but so far too late. So many people. He'd been having nightmares again recently; after being blood drunk, the pain of losing Annie, and now the withdrawal symptoms were back in full force. He had been through them before, so again he had managed to resist, but there was still that ball of tight pain in his chest. They needed a house, a proper house – the little tiny box cottage they were renting temporarily on the outskirts of the city was no good. He couldn't bear to be there for long, surrounded by the numbness of ... George. His friend. The one who wouldn't ever accept what Mitchell had done, the box tu- he wouldn't think of them, not now.

As he stubbed the cigarette out under the heel of his shoe, it was with unreasonable force. He took a few steps away then froze, taking a steadying breath. Not now. Not. Now. He began to walk with a determined face but blurry, pleasure and shame linked images were flooding behind his eyes. He stumbled and put his right arm out to take the weight, resting the palm on the wall and swallowing convulsively. He focused on his breathing, in and out, steadying himself. It was such a human experience, but he knew he'd felt this before, he knew what was coming. He'd had these before; when he'd had to go to war the first time he'd experienced it over and over, but the years after he became vampire they were rare. The last time he'd had one was when he was surrounded by a group of violent werewolves, and Herrick had managed to get to him before he was lost, he remembered the rank stink of dog blood splashing around him.

Mitchell stumbled and leant his side on the wall, trying to keep his head up and breathing, but the sensation was flooding him, as inescapable as the vampiric side when it took over. His chest was beginning to tighten, and he struggled to fill his lungs, knowing he shouldn't breathe so shallow, but he needed oxygen, he needed to feel air in his lungs – it felt like his throat was clamped shut. If he had been talking it would've silenced him in an instant. He struggled more for air, digging his nails into the brick, feeling flakes under his fingers, and his head was starting to spin. "Not here…" he tried to groan out. The street was empty and cold as he trembled, the world whirling around him in a blur, body and limbs seeming to float separate. He was terrified, the images of all those people seeming to be staring at him through the blur, they were coming, he was a monster, a monster, hate and shame mixing with the panic –

_ Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz._

Mitchell came round slowly, realizing the ground was rubbing roughly against his face.

_ Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz…_

He reached groggily into his pocket for the vibrating phone that had stirred him, pushing to his feet. He barely recognized that it was considerably darker now, the glow of the phone making him mince as he flicked it open, "Ullo?" he mumbled, and George's nervous squawk reached him, "Mitchell, where are you? It's been hours, you promised us you'd be back by five, it's almost six! Are you okay? Is anyone hurt?" the last line was said after an unsure pause, fear clearly not meant for his friend in there. Mitchell was too out of it to realize.

"M'fine." There was the stressed edge to his voice and he began to direct his feet, slowly walking toward the house. He had about twenty minutes to walk before he would reach the little house, having found a shortcut, but his mind was only registering the movement. The pause stretched on and he wondered if George had gone, but then the voice was back, "Mitchell… something's not right, I can tell. What happened?" George knew that Mitchell used to have the panic attacks. He'd been close to a full one before, once or twice… when fighting nightmares. It was rare, now, though. He should've realized his friend would know.

Mitchell just ended the call. Five minutes from the house he saw George, who hurried to his side, clearly worried. "Mitchell." He whispered, looking to his friend's face. By now the shaking had stopped, he looked almost normal except for the dirt in his hair and the crack in the left lens. George put both arms on his friend's shoulders, staring at his face. "You told me you didn't-" "I didn't." Mitchell retorted sharply. "Well, I did, but I'm fine. Christ, George, it's normal, alright? It's… it's human." George was stunned as his friend walked away. Staring after the leather bound back striding toward the house, he bit his lip nervously… something more must have happened, something he didn't want to consider, if Mitchell had collapsed… wringing his hands in worry, the werewolf followed toward the house, shaking his head.

**Author's Note2: Yeah two Author's Notes, sorry xD Um, there is a bit of an ulterior motive to this fanfiction. I've been a mild claustrophobe for a year or two now, but never had major issues. The other day I got caught in a crowd that came from nowhere and had a full panic attack and nearly collapsed. This is the first time I've ever, ever experienced that and it was a horrible thing to go through. Writing another character go through this was something I felt I needed to do to just get it out of my system. It's also something I really think Mitchell is likely to experience. So yeah… hope you like it. Reviews are my lifeblood!**


End file.
